A Writer's Block Tease
by Aria Breuer
Summary: At this hour, Frodo Baggins would often find himself sitting in Bag End's parlor, eating biscuits and drinking tea. But today was not one of those days. Features Frodo Baggins, Pippin Took, and Pumbaa.


**Disclaimers:** I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_. J.R.R. Tolkien does.

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So, the idea for this story sparked from LadyPorpoise's fanfic _Pains of a Writer_. Only with this story, readers are getting another look at how my mind works. Forgive me for the extreme randomness and circling need for some adventure to take place. Here we go.

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At this hour, Frodo Baggins would often find himself sitting in Bag End's parlor, eating biscuits and drinking tea. But today was not one of those days. Even with all the present action from a few uncanny fellows, resorting into a wand-versus-lightsaber duel between Harry Potter and Anakin Skywalker. Yes, today was up to its knees in its usual antics. Frodo shook his head. If only the author would switch to another character for one of the stories. Then….

"No." Frodo shook his head. "I can't imagine parting from the authoress. She's too…."

"Hey, watch it!" the warthog Pumbaa tiptoed up the steps. "We're walking here!" He was very agitated this morning.

"Oh yes, now where is the jungle?" The meerkat Timon asked, blustering into Bag End with ease. "Hey. This isn't the water hole."

"What are you two doing here?" Frodo asked, staring absentmindedly at his animal guests.

"Where can I find the stall?" Pumbaa asked, feeling himself ready to blow.

"Down the hallway and take a left. It's down at the end of the hall!" Frodo called as the two animals departed. "And don't blow your horn. I'll—" Too late. Pumbaa belted out his gas, stinking up Bag End for a good five minutes. Frodo waved his hand in the air. If only things didn't become so extreme.

"Not again!" Pippin Took cried, waving his hand in the air.

"Didn't we specifically tell them not to go in here?" Merry Brandybuck asked his cousin.

There was a clucking sound, disturbed and upset. Of course, Frodo had expected them to come three minutes ago. And his cousins were here with, to Frodo's surprise as he neared them, a clucking red chicken.

"You brought a chicken here," Frodo said, stating the obvious.

"Yes we did." Merry said, pleased with his handiwork. "We named it – cough! – Smith for reasons apparent to the plot."

"Come on. You're not expecting an agent to come down on us, are you?" Frodo asked, jokingly. He was correct in his question, for several secret agents stormed into the smial. "Why am I always right about these things?" He turned to the agents, clasping his hands together. "Gentlemen, this is not necessary. What are you doing in my house?"

"This smial is on lockdown until we find a toy," one of the agents said, keeping a serious face.

"What toy?" Frodo asked, confused.

"Ah! They're after me! NOOOO!" said a toy green painted dinosaur named Rex. Rex tried to escape, but he couldn't, for he was picked up by one of the agents, who gladly walked out of the smial with the rest of his team.

Frodo was stunned. "Did that just happen? You must be joking."

"I want to be an agent," Pippin announced, curious about the job. "I would rather be a spy, but yes I think this is a good idea."

"Pippin, last time you wanted to be king," Merry said, also stunned.

"I know I did, Merry. But I want to be a spy now. It looks neat!" Pippin said in triumph.

"No!" Sam Gamgee spat outside, as a brown gnome swept through the garden. "Get out of there, you lousy gnome! This isn't playtime!"

"Excuse me." Frodo departed from his friends, heading into the kitchen instead. To his surprise, there were so many women in there, from lasses to human girls. Who could he pick? "Ladies, this isn't necessary. You're just a part of my fantasy – no. That's not right. What am I doing?" He didn't ask for this. How were the girls there? Oh wait. They disappeared like a mirage. It was just a fantasy. "I'll put in a good word to the authoress when I'm done here."

"No! Pumbaa, don't!" Timon tried to pull Pumbaa back by the tail. It was too late – BOOM! The whole of Bag End stunk. Another idea down the drain.

"Oops! Brain farts!" Pumbaa announced with joy.

Frodo coughed. It was too much stink. "Can you please stop doing that?! Just go outside!"

"I think we should listen to him, Timon," Pumbaa said, encouraged.

"Yeah. No more stink bugs for you, Pumbaa!" Timon called, following his warthog friend outside the smial. It was a good seven minutes before the stink had finally left Bag End for good this time.

Frodo relaxed in his cushioned chair in the parlor. It was about the only thing he could do. If only he could see the authoress that was writing his story. Hmm. He wondered what she was writing now….

"There. Done!" the authoress said, glad to have her handiwork written. "A story involving writer's block. Oh joy, is my mind sure mad!" She smiled with glee. Finally, something she did right….

Frodo awoke inside Bag End. No way. "Did she just… just… NOOO! I won't go through this again! Ahhhhh!"

"Timon," Pumbaa asked his bestest best pal, just outside the smial.

"Yeah Pumbaa?" Timon asked, curious.

"We've done a good job," Pumbaa said, curtly.

"Yes, we have, Pumbaa." Timon sighed in relief. "Yes we have."

The End.

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Thanks for reading. :)


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